


Bagpipes and Turtles

by Ewebie



Series: Tumblr Shorts [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I don't even know what this should be called, I should not be held responsible for this, Jam asked for this. She really did, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What are you doing? Strangling a cat-No, DO NOT!” John clapped his hands over his ears and ducked on instinct, gritting his teeth against the screeching sound. It took another moment for Sherlock to run out of breath, and then John was wrestling the instrument away from him. “Why?” John demanded, frowning at the deflating bagpipes he’d managed to commandeer. “Why would you ever…”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bagpipes and Turtles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamlockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/gifts).



> **Jamlockk:** I challenge you to write a ficlet with the title "Bagpipes and turtles"... Go... Don't care what happens I just love that combo  
>  **Me:** I hope you know what you've just done.  
>  **Jamlockk:** Oh I am fully aware  
>  **Me:** ... as long as you're aware  
>  **Jamlockk:** Yay!

“CHRIST SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock paused to take another deep breath.

“What are you doing? Strangling a cat-No, DO NOT!” John clapped his hands over his ears and ducked on instinct, gritting his teeth against the screeching sound. It took another moment for Sherlock to run out of breath, and then John was wrestling the instrument away from him. “Why?” John demanded, frowning at the deflating bagpipes he’d managed to commandeer. “Why would you ever…”

Sherlock shrugged. “I was curious.”

John scoffed and tried to decide an appropriate storage method for the damn things; it was too far from rubbish collection to leave them in the bins, Sherlock would only dig them out when his back was turned. “You know people die from these things, right?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No really,” John gave them a shake in Sherlock’s direction and the pipes let out a pathetic whinge. “Bagpipe Lung. Look it up.”

“Mellowdramatic,” Sherlock drawled, flopping onto the couch with a huff.

“These are going on the list,” John said seriously.

“Absurd.”

“It’s not absurd, Sherlock! You have the self-preservation skills of a lemming!”

“Actually, lemmings are quite misunderstood. Their relative migratory patterns and ability swim coupled with the misconceptions portrayed in old nature documentaries-”

“Sherlock,” John growled. “Shut up. It’s on the list.”

“Oh, absolutely. Let’s review what’s on this list of yours, shall we?” Sherlock sat up abruptly and glared. “Things Sherlock isn’t allowed to play with, hm? Obsidian blades,” he ticked off on his finger.

“They are literally the sharpest-”

“Pigeon carcasses,” he added another finger.

“They carry cryptococcus.”

“Benzodiazepines.”

“You were bloody well mixing them with distilled Red Bull. Don’t even get me started on-”

“Magnesium.”

“You set the sink basin on fire.”

“Salt,” Sherlock said testily.

“It’s pure sodium, you prat.”

“Yersinia pestis and other-”

“That’s the PLAGUE! Sherlock!” John threw his arms up and the bagpipes squawked. “I’m not arguing with you about that! You’re not allowed to play with the sodding bubonic plague in our kitchen!”

“Turtles,” Sherlock offered flatly. “You put turtles on the list. Give me one good reason-”

“I’ll give you five!”

“Oh this should be rich.”

John tilted his head as his brow twitched in a frown. “One, Salmonella, yeah? That’s pleasant. You may have deleted that particular illness, but I definitely remember minding you then.” Sherlock snorted and John’s eyes narrowed. “Two, Campylobacterosis? That one ring a bell? Three, Leptospirosis. Four, Trichinellosis.”

“Please, John, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine. Five, Botulism.” John gave him an indignant look.

“In infants, John!” Sherlock bellowed. “What is it with you and animals? It’s a wonder you don’t walk around London with a mask on!”

“I don’t have a problem with animals!” John barked back, chucking the bagpipes to the floor. “I have a problem with you and your damned disregard for health and safety!”

Sherlock raised a brow. “Budgies.”

“Pneumoconiosis,” John snarled.

“Armadillos.”

“Syphilis.”

“The koala we liberated from the animal smuggling ring last month.”

“Chlamydia.” John crossed his arms over his chest.

Sherlock tilted his head, “Chlamydia?”

“No, don’t you dare!” John shook a finger at him. “You lick bits of rock you find at crime scenes. I’m not the one being irrational here!”

Sherlock held his gaze, watching the high color slowly recede from the tips of John’s ears. He waited until John’s breath wasn’t heaving and the tightness in his shoulders loosened. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. “Why do you really hate the bagpipes?”

John’s mouth opened, but before he could shout again, he seemed to catch himself and wound up sighing at the ceiling instead. “I don’t-”

Sherlock stood and took his time crossing the room, toeing the bagpipes out of the way so he could step into John’s personal space. “You do.” John scowled up at him. Sherlock raised his brow again. “Why?”

“Because.” His face pinched. “Summers with my nan…”

“Oh,” Sherlock smirked.

“Don’t laugh!” John swatted his arm. “I hated being in that damn pipes and drums band.”

“Pipes?”

“Snare,” John’s nose wrinkled as glared at the bagpipes on the floor. He still looked personally affronted by their presence.

Sherlock’s smirk stretched into a grin. “Did you wear a kilt?”

“Sod off!” John huffed.

“No, no. I’d like to see pictures of this.” Sherlock raked his gaze down John’s front. “I imagine you looked quite fetching in a kilt and sporran.”

“You’re incorrigible,” John flushed.

Sherlock ducked his head, bumping his nose against the side of John’s. “Imagine you still do.”

“Nuh uh!” John planted a hand in the middle of Sherlock’s chest and pulled his head back. “Brush your damn teeth first.”

Sherlock let a slow smile wash across his face and stooped, bringing his lips to brush John’s ear. “Bagpipe lung. Really, John.” He nipped at John’s lobe then slipped past him, heading for the bathroom.

John let the shiver trace warmly down his spine and sighed. Then he shook himself and frowned at the pipes. “Bagpipes are still on the list, Sherlock!”


End file.
